


Give

by DrJekyl



Series: Fall [2]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Homeworld is Horrible, Pre-Canon, Pre-Rebellion Story, Pre-Relationship, Renegade Pearl, Rose Quartz has funny feelings, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, warning: contains content that can be construed as self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9669575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJekyl/pseuds/DrJekyl
Summary: Rose Quartz promised White Diamond's pearl a sword. She intends to make good on it, whatever obstacles arise.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Steal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421973) by [TheBlindBandit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlindBandit/pseuds/TheBlindBandit). 



> This is pretty much a direct sequel to theBlindBandit's _Steal_ , and is best read as such.

It _is_ a better sword.  

It had taken Rose several days and a few too many trips to the armoury to settle on it.  A spadroon.  The kind of sword meant for Citrines and Aventurines whose natural, personal weapons turned out to be things that gave them either too little or too much range.  Gauntlets or daggers or bows - that kind of thing.  Too big for a Ruby but too small for a greater Quartz, the sword is practically a dagger in Rose’s hand.  

That doesn’t matter.  It’s not for _her_.

“Go on,” Rose whispers.  “Take it.   _Please_.”

Pearl actually _quivers_ with tension as Rose holds out the sword, hilt first, towards her.  Every line of her delicate body suggests impending flight, but the long fingers of her hand are twitching restlessly and her eyes keep darting from Rose to the sword to the door to the sword to Rose to the sword _to the sword_.

Her eyes are blue, Rose realises.  Everything else about her, beneath the natural pearlescence, is white, near-white or translucent.  From the tips of her hair, swept up and forward, to the tips of her slippered toes, the complete absence of colour is what marks her as White Diamond’s personal pearl for everyone to see.  Rose had thought her eyes were like the rest of her, the palest of greys, but they’re not.  There’s blue in them, behind the grey, faint but undeniably there.  Her irises are coloured more like larimar than chert, and they’re bright and alert and _lovely_ , for all her pupils are wide with fear.  And something else.

“Oh, you have such beautiful eyes.”

Rose realises, too late, that she’s said the words aloud, and can only clap her hand over her mouth and wince at her own foolishness.  It’s the wrong thing to say, to someone else’s pearl.  It’s the wrong place to say it.  It’s most certainly not _Rose’s_ place to say things like that.   _And_ it’s not even why she came here.  ‘Pretty’ is a prerequisite for pearls; it was the sword and the subterfuge that had caught Rose’s eye.

The _wrongness_ of the moment is only exacerbated when the tension leaves Pearl’s body in a kind of a sigh, and her hand stills at her side.  She stops looking at the sword and focuses her full attention on Rose.  No longer afraid, she seems… sad.  Disappointed.  Resigned.

For no reason, no reason at all that she can see, Rose abruptly feels like she’s been gut-punched.

It’s in that very same moment, with the very same abruptness, that Rose realises she’d never actually seen a pearl be _sad_ before, and it only makes the bad feeling worse.  She’s seen them be scared, yes.  It’s only sensible to be afraid of an Agate, or fear failing your Diamond, pearl or not.

But pearls aren’t even supposed to feel _that_ , are they?  They aren’t supposed to feel anything at all beyond a desire to please.  They’re _made_ to not feel.  They’re _made_ to not think.  An ideal pearl has just enough intelligence to be useful but not enough to be willful.  They’re _made_ to never get bored, to never complain, to never want anything or need anything beyond someone or something to serve.  They don’t even need the rest cycles other gems require.  They’re not even real gems. They’re weak and made in water.  That’s why they’re such good tools. 

At least… that’s what everyone says.

But she’s seen this pearl - seen _Pearl_ \- _want_.  In their three all-too-brief encounters to date, Rose has seen fear and anger and confusion too, curiosity, determination, delight and more.  Drive.  Daring.  Drive enough and daring enough to meet Rose here, now, on the fragile promise of a sword.  Daring enough and drive enough to decide to learn in the first place, to steal a ruined blade and find this forgotten corner to teach herself as best as she could.  

“I can’t belong to you, if that’s what this is all about,” Pearl says. Her voice seems strange - low-pitched and dissonant - and her lip curls ever so slightly in a sneer.  “Even if I wanted to, I’m not _stupid_ enough to go along with some Quartz who just wants a pretty pearl of their own.  I belong to _Her_ , and _She_ would shatter me before giving me to another gem.  If She even _thinks_ you’re trying to steal me, She’ll have you shattered, powdered and seeded.”  Then Pearl sighs and the faint disdain vanishes.  “Go back to your barracks and pretend you never saw me.  For your own sake.”

She turns to go with a minute nod, as if the decision’s been made and that’s the end of everything.  In her sudden panic to stop it from being so, Rose darts forward and lays a hand on Pearl’s shoulder.  

It’s the first time Rose has touched Pearl, and she is surprisingly warm and solid beneath Rose’s hand.  

It's the first time Rose has touched Pearl, and Pearl manages to both flinch and freeze, folding in on herself, seeming to halve in size.

It’s the first time Rose has touched Pearl, and Pearl is afraid for her very life.

Rose yanks her hand away, but Pearl doesn’t move, doesn’t raise her head or otherwise unfold out of her defensive cringe.  It’s not hard to see why.  Rose is armed.  Pearl is not.  Rose is a Quartz - a new, rare type of Quartz, no less.  She’s cut and shaped warrior elite.  Pearl is… a pearl.  Rose is tall, broad and battle-hardened.  Pearl is small and slender and will never fight anything more than shadows.  Pearl's gem is small enough to fit in Rose's bare hand, and soft enough for her to crush it there.

Once again, Rose feels as though she’s been punched.  It _aches,_ heaviness settling over her in a new an entirely unpleasant way.

“I’m sorry!” she says and, almost too late, remembers the precariousness of their meeting.  She lowers her voice back down to an urgent whisper.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to- I didn't want to frighten you.  I just want- _I don’t want you to go_.  And I _don’t_ want you to belong to me.”  Rose hesitates, trying to evaluate her strange and muddled-up feelings.  “At least, I don’t _think_ I do.”

There’s a quiet, lengthy pause before Pearl unfolds and turns back to face her - though not before taking a step back to reestablish a little bit of distance between them.  That hurts Rose too, strangely.

Stars above, what is _wrong_ with her?

“Then what?” Pearl demands.  “What do you want?  If you don’t want me.”

The bewilderment on her face mirror’s Rose’s own internal turmoil.  She _wants_ Pearl, but at the same time, she doesn’t..?  And even if she did just _want_ to own this pearl, it wouldn’t explain the risk, the sword, the clandestine meeting that could see her shattered.  There are other pearls, newer pearls, and she has a good chance of earning one of her own, someday, without the need for secrecy or stealing.

 _Wanting_ certainly doesn't explain how her body has buzzed with something like yet entirely unlike pre-battle nerves whenever she’s thought of today. _Wanting_ doesn't explain how she _kept_ thinking about Pearl, about seeing her, how her head went light and her mind lost itself to daydreams that were… strangely pleasant.  They always start with Pearl taking the sword.  Sometimes, Pearl thanks her, and then the two of them spar, and Rose teaches her some new techniques.  In another, a squadron of White Diamond's Quartzes catch them in the act and attack, and Rose fights them off easily and with her trademark flourish.  Rose’s favorite, though, is the one where Pearl takes the sword, and smiles up at her, and lets Rose touch her to find out if that pale hair is as soft as it looks.

If Rose has never seen a pearl be sad before today, she’s never seen one smile either.  Not for real.  There’s always something... dull and _vacant_ about the eyes. Joyless.

Rose wants Pearl to smile at her.   _Because_ of her.  For real.

It suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world.

“I’m… not sure,” Rose admits, chewing on her lip.  “It’s all very confusing.  But.. I thought it might… make you happy?”

Pearl stares at Rose like she thinks she might be defective.  Rose can only wonder if she is.

“I’m a pearl.  It doesn’t matter if we’re happy.” Pearl stops abruptly.  “And anyways, what makes you think I’m _not_ happy?  I serve a _Diamond_.   _Directly_.  I have Her trust.”  She tosses her head with just a hint of arrogance, and seeing the gesture, hearing the hint of haughtiness does _something_ else strange and new to Rose’s body and gem, an all-over tingling feeling that’s both alien and rather pleasant.  “Most gems can only _dream_ of that.”

“I think,” Rose says slowly, forming the words as she forms the thoughts, “that if you were happy, you wouldn’t be stealing swords and fighting shadows.”

Rose can see the instant the words register.  Again, whatever bravado Pearl has seems to collapse inwards, her shoulders with it.

“Well.  Perhaps I’m not.”  And, _again_ , she rallies.  “But I’m just a pearl.  It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“But it does!” Rose says, fighting to keep her voice from rising.  "Or… Or, well, even if it doesn’t matter to anyone else, it matters to me!”

Rose doesn’t stop to analyse where the words come from, only finding that they ring true, feel _right_.  She believes them, even if she doesn’t know why.  And the way Pearl looks up at her in astonishment, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, only makes that feeling _stronger_.

Rose bites her lip and takes a cautious step forward.  Pearl tenses, but doesn’t retreat.

“I think it should matter to everyone,” Rose whispers.

She holds the sword out again, hilt-first, low enough and at the right angle for it to be drawn easily by the smaller gem, and waits.  The same quivering tension as before arises in Pearl, but this time she takes only one look, back over her shoulder towards the door, and another up at Rose, before she takes a tiny step closer.  And then another.  She’s still poised for flight, only half-turned towards Rose, and Rose doesn’t dare move, even to blink.  Pearl’s arm unfurls and her fingers - oh, and they’re just as beautiful as her eyes, really, long and delicate and utterly unlike Rose’s thick, stubby ones - her fingers flutter and flicker and fret back and forth between _closing_ and _reaching._

And then her hand is on the grip, and Rose is close enough to see the exquisitely subtle embroidery and lacework of her uniform and how it highlights the the lovely if fragile-looking curve of her collarbone and her long, elegant neck.  A faint teal blush dusts her cheeks, bringing back out the blue of her eyes, and her delicate eyelashes softly flutter as she holds Rose’s gaze.

The fizzy, buzzy feeling she’d had earlier this week, whenever she’d thought of today, returns full force.  Her head is light, her skin too tight for her body and her hands itch to drop the sword and run through Pearl’s hair and trace the sharp line of her cheekbones, the graceful arc of neck and throat.  Awash, adrift, Rose can only smile helplessly down at the lithe little gem and quietly hope against hope that she doesn’t seem any stranger than she must already do.

Pearl doesn’t look away from Rose as she slowly draws the sword from its scabbard, the slight hum and scrape of metal - good metal - on crystal.  Only when it’s free and clear does Pearl look away and down, to the dull shine of the sword under the artificial lights.  

“It’s light,” Pearl says softly, twisting and turning it and holding it up for inspection.  She runs a cautious finger along the sword’s false edge, jerking her finger back when it leaves a vivid blue cut behind.  “And _sharp_.”

“Yes!”  Rose beams.  “It should be a _lot_ better than that piece of pot iron you were using.  Go on.  Give it a try.  See how it feels.”

Pearl takes a step back, takes a moment to set her feet and adjust her posture with a bemusing fussiness, raises the sword into a basic guard, looks back up at Rose, and stops dead.  Her shoulders tense, her eyes darting around the room in sudden panic.

“I… I shouldn’t!  If somebody catches us-”

The ‘us’ gives Rose a strange little glow inside.

“There’s nobody here,” Rose assures her.  “But I can stand watch at the door, if you want.”

“You’d do that?” Pearl asks in a rather small voice.  “For me?”

“Well, yes!  I’m hardly going to give you a sword and then not give you the chance to use it, am I?”

“And… you’re really giving me this?  A sword?”

“Absolutely.   If you want it, it’s yours.”

“ _Mine_.

Pearl gives another one of those full-body quivers and abruptly spins on her heel.  Suddenly faced with her back, Rose has a fleeting worry that Pearl’s going to bolt before she realizes what’s actually happening:

Pearl is crying.

Rose’s first instinct is to reach out, to touch, to demand to know what she’s done wrong, but she remembers this time, if at the last second, that she is a Quartz, and Pearl is a pearl.  She shouldn’t touch, or be aggressive, even if it’s just aggressive concern.  Rose can _move_ , though, and does, a few quick, silent steps around so that Pearl is close to facing her again, and what she sees brings back the gut-punch feeling again.

She’s not just crying but _sobbing_ , biting her lip to fight against it and quell the little noises rising in her throat, even as her shoulders shake and the tears pour.  Her arms wrap tightly around her frail chest, holding the sword to her body, clinging to it as if it’s the only real thing left in the universe.  The pommel presses against the side of her chin, and there’s a startlingly turquoise blotch, high on each of her cheeks.  The blade’s cutting into one of her arms, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Pearl?”  Rose asks.  “Pearl, I’m sorry.  What did I do wrong?”

Pearl shakes her head frantically, not meeting her eyes, and the bad feeling intensifies.  Rose drops the scabbard, drops to her knees, so that they’re more or less of a height.

“Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you.  That’s the last thing I want to do.”

Pearl shakes her head again, but this time her mouth works, as if she’s trying to speak. Rose waits, and eventually Pearl finds her voice.

“N-no!  I mean.”  She stops, and blinks back her tears.  “You haven’t done anything wrong. My Quartz.  Well, of course,” and she almost titters, half-hysterical, “yes you _have_ , this is _highly_ illegal for both of us, we would both be shattered if anyone saw but I just-  I feel-  You see- I-”

She bites her lip again, and she hugs the sword more tightly to her chest.  The cut on her arm deepens, unheeded.

“Nobody’s-” Pearl’s voice cracks on the last syllable.  Her head dips, her eyes drop to the floor.  “No one has ever given me anything before.  Not for-  not for just _me_.”

“Oh.”

“And this is - it’s _perfect_.  B-beautiful.  Too good for a pearl.   You shouldn’t be risking yourself like, like _this_.  Not for me.  You should take it back.”  Pearl unfolds her body with startling abruptness and offers the sword back to Rose, hilt first, with trembling hands upon the blade, scoring her palms and fingers in the process.  “You s-should take it back, my Quartz, and go back to your barracks, and g-go back to your l-l-life.”

It’s only a training sword, Rose starts to say.  Nothing at all fancy, she starts to say, just a good, plain blade with good, sharp edges and a good, plain hilt, with a good, plain scabbard.  Her barracks’ armoury is full of them, she starts to say, and her barracks is one of _thousands_.  She starts to say, the sword one of _millions_.

Millions of swords, pristine, sharp and new, and this pearl - _Pearl_ had been practicing with something that could only have been salvaged from a scrap heap.  Rose is barely a few decades out of the ground, and she’s already been given all manner of things to keep.  Not just swords and other weapons and armor, but _overwear_ \- a cape, sashes, ties for her hair.  Things that don’t do anything other than look nice and help her look nice.  She has a communicator, a viewer and a dozen other devices that are useful or just entertaining.  She has a cubby, with space to keep all of it in, and even things to _decorate_ that with.  She can trade all of that, if she wants to, for other things, whether it’s a new game or swapping out a guard rotation.  And, of course, if she _really_ wants something, she can try to take it by force.  She might even be rewarded more for doing so.

She doesn’t have a pearl.  But if she does well in her battles - and Rose thinks she will - she will probably be given one to call her own.  A pearl who will never have had the chance to own anything, including herself.

Pearl is older than she is.  Rose isn’t sure by how much, exactly, but it’s significant.  Nobody remembers White Diamond owning another pearl, not even White Diamond’s own Quartzes.

Rose bites her lip, and decides to take a risk.

“Pearl,” she says gently and, just as carefully, reaches out to take first one of Pearl’s hands and then the other, returning them to the hilt.  “I want you to have this.  It’s yours.”

“But-”

Wanting something - and wanting it badly enough to risk your life for it - is something that Rose completely understands.  If she didn’t, she’d still be in her barracks refining her promotion strategy and not here, holding two cool hands in place around the hilt of a sword. What _baffles_ her is the idea of having something you so desperately want given to you, to hold it in your very own hands and to then turn it away, or try to.  

It’s fear driving it.  Rose can see that plainly in Pearl’s face, hear it in her voice, feel it in the trembling of her hands.  But it’s not a type of fear Rose knows.  It’s not the fear of death or injury, or the fear of failure, embarrassment, punishment.  It’s something strange and entirely alien to her, coming from the same place the first fallen tears had.  It’s something to do with the idea of needing to steal from the scrapheap while a thousand bright new swords sit, unused, just a short walk from White Diamond’s throne room.  Something about the word _mine_ , uttered in disbelief and a voice too soft for whispers.  Something in the thought that someone who has nothing at all to lose might question why somebody else would _give_.

“Take it,” Rose says.  “Please.  It’s my gift to you.  No strings attached.”

She accompanies the words with a gentle pressure that forces Pearl’s hands and the blade back, close to her body.  Pearl resists for a few seconds, just long enough for Rose to be surprised by her strength, then surrenders.  And when Rose takes her hands away, Pearl makes no move to hand the sword back.

“N-no strings?”

“No.  I won’t tell anyone.  I won’t even try to find you again, if you don’t want me to.  I swear by my Diamond I speak true.”

Pearl holds her gaze for what feels like an age, searching for sincerity.  Whatever she finds appears to be enough to reassure her.  Pearl closes her eyes for a few seconds and makes a clear attempt at composing herself.

“V-very well,” she finally says. “If you insist.”

“Believe me, I do.”

“Then... I imagine I should thank you.  For the gift.”  Pearl draws herself up straight and steps back, only to execute an impeccable bow, the sword flashing in a brilliant arc as she adds a flourish.  “Thank you.”

Rose has to fight to keep her smile from turning into a grin.

“You’re welcome,” she says as Pearl straightens again.  “Very much so.”

And Pearl... Pearl _smiles up at her_.  It’s tremulous and crooked, watery and fleeting, but it’s _there_ and it’s _real_ and directed at Rose.

Just for a second, Rose Quartz feels like she’s lighter than air.


End file.
